


you and me (there's nothing like this)

by joshllyman



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Begging, Canon Compliant, Dom/sub, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Power Bottom Akaashi Keiji, Praise Kink, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:42:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29431170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joshllyman/pseuds/joshllyman
Summary: Bokuto definitely doesn’t run out of the locker room.His pace is no less than dignified as he heads for the front entrance where Akaashi is going to be waiting for him. He ignores the teasing laughter and shouts of “go get ’em, tiger!” from his teammates. They mean well, and normally he’d shoulder it just fine, but it’s been six weeks since he saw Akaashi in person, and his patience is wearing thin.***Bokuto and Akaashi go on that date after the Jackals and Adlers game.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 4
Kudos: 180
Collections: Play Ball Zine Collection





	you and me (there's nothing like this)

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my contribution to the HQ Smut Zine, Play Ball! This zine was such a wonderful experience. We raised over $5000 for charity! Please enjoy this little slice of bokuaka heaven, and happy valentine's day :)

Bokuto definitely doesn’t run out of the locker room.

His pace is no less than dignified as he heads for the front entrance where Akaashi is going to be waiting for him. He ignores the teasing laughter and shouts of “go get ’em, tiger!” from his teammates. They mean well, and normally he’d shoulder it just fine, but it’s been six weeks since he saw Akaashi in person, and his patience is wearing thin.

Akaashi huffs when he sees Bokuto hurrying toward him. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“You could have at least put on your sweatshirt. It’s cold outside.”

Bokuto struggles, already caught up in the sleeves. Akaashi huffs again and releases him from the fabric prison, tugging the hoodie down over Bokuto’s head.

“Thanks, ’Kaashi,” he says, grinning widely. He’s just a little breathless from his not-run. “You’re the best.”

Akaashi smiles softly. His jacket is a dark grey and pulls out the blue in his eyes. “After today’s performance, I would argue that you are the best.”

“No need to argue,” Bokuto says. He reaches for Akaashi’s hand. “We’re both the best.”

Akaashi raises an eyebrow. Bokuto shoves his hands in his pocket sheepishly.

“Forgot,” he explains.

“Let’s get dinner, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi suggests. 

Bokuto is a little restless on the train, despite Akaashi’s calm demeanor. He knows he played four sets today, should probably be a lot more tired than he is, but his skin is buzzing just under the surface. Being close to Akaashi again is a kind of exquisite torture. He aches to hold his hand, kiss his forehead, sweep his hair out of his face, but he has to keep his hands to himself. Although their friends and family are well aware of the nature of their relationship, they haven’t gone public yet, and the last way either of them want the story to break is via a shaky Snapchat photo. He takes several deep, grounding breaths and focuses on remembering to keep his guard up.

Still, it’s not easy as Akaashi leads him off the train and to the restaurant. He says Bokuto’s name confidently to the maître d’, like it’s his own, and Bokuto squirms at that particular line of thought. It’s not until they’re seated in a quiet corner that he opens his mouth again.

“You put the reservation under my name,” Bokuto observes, as casually as he can manage, as Akaashi opens the menu.

“I hoped it would fetch us a little privacy,” Akaashi says lightly. “I believe I was correct in doing so.”

Despite the stated reason, when he looks up at Bokuto, there’s fire in his eyes. Bokuto bites his lip. 

“You should take a look at your menu,” Akaashi says, looking back down at his own.

Bokuto takes it and stands it up on the edge of the table, crouching down to hide behind it. “Keiji—”

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi interrupts. There’s a note of warning in his voice.

“One kiss,” Bokuto pleads. “It’ll be so much easier to get through the night—”

“May I take your drink orders?” asks the waiter, appearing above the menu, and Bokuto’s head thunks downward, colliding with the wood.

“Thank you very much,” Akaashi says, ignoring the spectacle altogether.

Bokuto doesn’t reemerge from the table until he hears the waiter leave, and when he does, Akaashi looks unimpressed. 

“You know that until we’re ready to go public, there can’t be any of that,” Akaashi says. He sounds both stern and wistful, like he knows he has to be the stronger of the two of them and wishes he could just give in.

“Yeah.” Bokuto straightens up. “You’re right. I can do this.”

An idea occurs to him. He smiles, bright and confident, and clenches his fist tight.

“I can definitely do this.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” says Akaashi. “Responsibility looks good on—Bokuto-san.”

“Hmm?”

“Your foot.”

“What about it?”

“It’s touching my calf.”

“Is it?” Bokuto slips it beneath the hem of Akaashi’s pants, feeling the warmth of his skin. “Weird.”

Akaashi scowls at him, but there’s no ‘cease and desist,’ so he can’t actually be all that mad about it. Bokuto, delighted, doesn’t hesitate to continue all the way up until the arrival of their food. Then he’s digging in, too busy eating to tease Akaashi too much. Akaashi looks like he’s going to devour his plate of cow tongue, and there’s next to no conversation between them until their plates are nearly empty. 

Bokuto settles back against the booth. “I’m stuffed.”

Akaashi snorts. “That will interfere with my plans for later.”

“Akaashi!” Bokuto leans in, giggling. They’re both a little giddy now that their stomachs are full. “Tell me, what exactly are your plans for later?”

Akaashi shakes his head. “Not here, Bokuto-san. At least one of us should attempt to remain an upstanding member of society.”

“I was in the running for the Spirit Award for the league last year!” Bokuto exclaims. “I helped build the park in Osaka, I gathered all the volunteers myself—”

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi interrupts, laying a hand on top of Bokuto’s. “No amount of volunteer work will make up for public indecency.”

“I’m not being indecent!” Bokuto lowers his voices and leans toward Akaashi. “Can’t a guy feel up his boyfriend—”

“Bokuto-san!” Akaashi is laughing, and it makes Bokuto’s heart dance in his chest. “You’re terrible.”

“You love me,” Bokuto answers, confident.

Akaashi doesn’t reply, but there’s a pink flush in his cheeks, and the smile doesn’t fall away from his mouth. 

A few minutes later, when they’ve paid the bill, they spill back out into the November evening. The chill is just enough to make Bokuto wish he could wrap an arm around Akaashi, but he supposes he’d want that either way. 

“Are we headed back to the hotel?” Bokuto asks, his voice low.

Akaashi smirks. “Patience, Bokuto-san. We’ve just eaten. Exercise is too strenuous immediately after a meal.”

Bokuto groans and follows Akaashi as he walks on.

Akaashi leads them further into the neighborhood, his hand only just brushing against Bokuto’s on occasion. There are other couples, laughing and talking as they pass, their hands twined together between them. Bokuto’s heart aches in a pleasant way when he sees two young men, probably just out of high school, shyly reach for each other’s hands as they come out of a bar. 

“See that, ’Kaashi?” Bokuto murmurs after they’re gone. “That was us a few years ago.”

Akaashi looks over at him with a fond smile. “You were never that hesitant to take my hand, Bokuto-san. You hardly ever let it go.”

“Couldn’t have you getting lost on me!” Bokuto says, but the memory burns hot in his chest. “Ah, man. It’s been a few years, hasn’t it?”

“Are you intending to get nostalgic on me?” Akaashi asks, his voice teasing.

“I just mean we’ve been through so much,” Bokuto replies. “You sure did have your hands full with me before.”

“I never minded.”

Bokuto looks over at Akaashi, who’s staring at him so matter-of-factly that it takes his breath away. Bokuto’s tempted to kiss him right there, to hold him tight and never let go, damn whoever might be watching.

“Well, I’m just a normal ace, now,” Bokuto says, walking on.

Akaashi laughs. “You’ll never be a normal anything, Bokuto-san. You know that full well.”

As Bokuto goes to form a response, he catches a snippet of music, something upbeat that gets into his bones. He heads toward it without thinking, and after a few moments, finds himself outside a club with a rainbow flag hanging outside. Tears lodge themselves in his throat.

“Look at that,” he says to Akaashi, who’s just catching up. He tugs a bit at Akaashi’s sleeve. “Look, see! There was never anything that open a few years ago!”

“Times are changing,” Akaashi nods, smiling at Bokuto. “The kids are going to be alright, I think.”

“Dance with me,” Bokuto requests.

Akaashi sighs. “We can’t go in there, Bokuto-san, you know that—”

“No, I mean here.” He gestures to the empty evening. “There’s no one out here but us. Dance with me, just for a minute. Please.”

Akaashi shakes his head, but when he looks up at Bokuto, there’s fondness in his eyes. “If we get caught…”

“We won’t,” says Bokuto, opening his arms.

Akaashi takes one of his hands and folds himself into Bokuto’s arms. Bokuto leans his face down, pressing it into Akaashi’s neck. 

“Akaashi,” he murmurs happily. “I love you.”

The music from inside the club is thumping hard, demanding the gyration of bodies and slick skin sticking together, but out here in the cool air, Akaashi and Bokuto spin together, completely offbeat and unconcerned. Under his breath, Bokuto hums another song altogether, one that he’s heard over the radio recently. Akaashi sighs and slides his hands to Bokuto’s waist.

“I love you, too,” Akaashi says. 

Bokuto dips him suddenly, and Akaashi yelps. Then they’re both laughing, breathless and drunk on each other’s presence, and when Bokuto tugs Akaashi close to him again, that same fire from earlier has returned to his eyes.

“Have we walked long enough yet?” Bokuto asks.

“The hotel’s just around the corner,” Akaashi answers with a determined smirk.

They definitely don’t run the rest of the way to the hotel. Their pace is nothing less than dignified as they crash through the doors, and Akaashi once again gives Bokuto’s name for the reservation. The elevator ride takes at least a year to endure, and all the while Bokuto bounces on the tips of his toes, looking at Akaashi out of the corner of his eye.

“Nearly there,” Akaashi assures him.

The door dings open, and Akaashi links their pinkies together, tugging Bokuto down the hallway. His curls flop a little wildly on his head as they rush to the room, and when they stop outside the door, his face is pink from exertion and he’s bitten a plump lip into his mouth.

Bokuto pauses, the key still in his hand. Akaashi’s eyes flash to him.

“Bokuto-san?” he questions. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Bokuto assures him. He takes a deep breath. “Just thinking how beautiful you are.”

Akaashi’s cheeks get even pinker. “You’re a talented flatterer, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto grins. “It’s more than flattery, ’Kaashi, you know that.”

Akaashi sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and looks Bokuto up and down. “Why don’t you get this door open, and I can show you my appreciation,” he suggests.

Bokuto fumbles the key trying to get it into the lock, but after a moment he manages to get the door open. Akaashi is the first through, and Bokuto follows after him.

The door clicks behind them; their public selves are left behind. With no one watching, they can be as they really are, and Koutarou aches with the yearning he’s held back all night.

“Keiji,” Koutarou murmurs.

Keiji grabs the front of Koutarou’s shirt, pushing him hard against the wall. Koutarou doesn’t even have the time to complain before Keiji’s on him, mouth hard against his, free hand fisting in his hair. Koutarou laughs against him, and Keiji moans.

“You little shit,” he breathes, nipping the skin at Koutarou’s neck. “You know you’ve been making me crazy all night—”

“Yeah, Keiji, that was kinda the point,” Koutarou answers, grinning. 

Keiji pulls back, opens his mouth to retort, then grits his teeth and attacks Koutarou’s face again. “No more dates,” he says between kisses. “I’m not taking you out in public ever again, I’m taking you straight to bed after every game.”

“And I’ll order you three cartons of takeout when we’re done. Sounds like a good deal to me,” Koutarou answers.

He feels rather than sees Keiji’s answering smile. “Glad we’re on the same page,” Keiji says. 

He kisses Koutarou again, slips his tongue past Koutarou’s lips and pins his wrists above his head with one hand. Koutarou loves when Keiji gets like this, possessive, nearly feral in his need to take or be taken. He’s never quite sure which it will be until they actually reach the bed, but he’s happy to accommodate whatever Keiji wants. 

Today, Keiji slips his free hand beneath Koutarou’s shirt, running his palm over his chest and stomach. At the soft flesh of his hips, he digs his fingernails in, eliciting a hiss from Koutarou. Keiji chuckles darkly, pushes in a little harder, and Koutarou would roll his hips except Keiji chooses that particular moment to force a leg between his thighs.

Koutarou has to pull away from the kiss they hadn’t yet broken. “Fuck,  _ Keiji _ ,” he moans, his voice already making him sound wrecked. “Gods, you feel amazing—”

“Just getting started, my love,” Keiji says. He releases Koutarou’s hip to grasp his chin again, forcing Koutarou to look at him. There’s a mischievous curve to his lips that Koutarou wants to taste, and he’s getting ready to say something when Keiji leans in again, biting at his bottom lip. 

Koutarou takes it, will gladly take anything Keiji wants to give him, will beg if that’s what Keiji wants. Above his head, Keiji moves his grip from his wrists to his hand, twining their fingers together. He grinds against Koutarou for a moment, pressing their cocks together with almost too much force before pulling back and looking at Koutarou again. His eyes flash with want.

“Go to the bed, Koutarou,” Keiji commands in a low voice. “Take off everything but your jersey and lay down on your back.”

“Yes, Keiji,” Koutarou answers. He risks a swift peck to Keiji’s cheek that leaves behind a pretty pink blush before he moves to follow Keiji’s direction. He strips on his way over, his sweatshirt tossed into one corner, his shorts and socks hastily shoved off and left in his path. His dick bounces out from its confines, already slick when it collides with his stomach. He throws all the pillows but one off to the side and nearly throws himself on top of the sheets in his haste to comply with Keiji’s instructions.

When he looks back over at Keiji, there’s a smirk painted on his lips. He undoes his shirt buttons slowly, forcing Koutarou to watch every movement. When it’s finally open all the way, he saunters over to the end of the bed. Koutarou props himself up on his elbows to watch Keiji fold the shirt and set it to the side. His pace somehow gets even slower as he slides his belt off and sets it beside the shirt. Koutarou knows he’s squirming and knows Keiji sees him, but his fingers itch to get his hands back on him. He’s had a taste, but it wasn’t enough, it’s never enough—

“Koutarou,” Keiji says, his zipper undone. He puts both hands on his cocked hips. “Hold still.”

“Yes, Keiji,” Koutarou answers, striving to comply.

There’s a moment, achingly long, where Keiji just stands there, waiting to see if Koutarou is going to do as he says. It takes everything,  _ everything _ in him to not reach out and pull Keiji down on top of him, to hell with the pants. He clenches his hands into fists and furrows his brow and holds still.

“Good boy,” Keiji says. “Thank you for being so patient for me.”

The pants slip down his frame and join his pile. Finally, finally, he slips his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear and takes them off, revealing his cock. Koutarou’s mouth waters at the sight, even though he knows their game isn’t up yet. He licks his lips and swallows. Keiji catches him, because of course he does.

“Shall we put your mouth to good use, my love?” he asks, coming up to the head of the bed.

Koutarou nods enthusiastically. Keiji runs his fingers through Koutarou’s hair. It takes Koutarou’s breath away sometimes, how he can see the love in Keiji’s face, in his eyes, in his actions. Everything he does, he lives and breathes love, and he shares that with Koutarou. Koutarou closes his eyes and leans into the touch.

“I have an idea, then,” Keiji says softly. “I’d like to sit on your face. May I do that?”

Koutarou’s eyes fly back open as Keiji tugs at his hair. “Fuck, yes,” Koutarou agrees, but it comes out as more of a moan than anything else. 

“So agreeable,” Keiji praises, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the corner of Koutarou’s mouth. “You remember your signal?”

“Three taps to your leg,” Koutarou recites.

Keiji hums and kisses him again. “Such a good boy.”

He kneels on one side and swings his other leg carefully over to Koutarou’s other side, turning so that he’s facing away from Koutarou. He lowers himself carefully to Koutarou’s mouth. 

Koutarou hopes Keiji won’t punish him too much for a bit of teasing. He slips his tongue out of his mouth and runs it along what he can reach, intentionally avoiding Keiji’s hole. Keiji laughs somewhat breathlessly as Koutarou nips gently at his cheek. 

“I suppose you think I deserve this,” Keiji says. “But we both know I’m a much more patient man than you are.”

He’s not wrong, but Koutarou still takes his time, using his tongue everywhere except where Keiji really wants him. Keiji holds steady, breathing evenly, only hiccuping a bit when Koutarou’s tongue skims particularly close to his hole.

Koutarou’s patience wears thin before Keiji’s, as Keiji predicted. He relents, licking a stripe carefully around Keiji’s rim, and just that gentle touch forces a gasp from Keiji. He trembles, and Koutarou wraps his hands around his strong thighs to keep him steady. 

“That’s it, Kou,” Keiji says. His voice is just as wobbly as the rest of him.

Koutarou hums as he works Keiji’s hole. Above him, Keiji makes a symphony of little gasps, moans, and sighs. He’s quiet still, but that’s okay with Koutarou. He knows that by the end of the night, Keiji will be screaming for him. 

His impatience persists; he’s had his fill of teasing Keiji already, so he slips his tongue inside and begins to gently fuck him with it. Keiji keeps up a steady stream of encouragement, the filthy words falling easily from his lips. It had taken Koutarou completely by surprise the first time Keiji had whispered into his ear exactly what he wanted Koutarou to do to him; now Koutarou isn’t sure he could get off if he didn’t at least imagine what Keiji was telling him to do.

When Keiji begins to get quiet again, he pushes two fingers in alongside his tongue. He’s rewarded with a loud shout.

“Gods—yes, Kou, that’s…” Keiji’s voice trails off into a groan. Koutarou tightens his grip on his thigh, trying to make sure he’s stable. With his fingers, he scissors and stretches, reaches further and further into Keiji, approaching his prostate and dancing away. He adds a third finger and continues his routine, letting his tongue sink in as far as he can and filling as much of Keiji as he can manage with his fingers. Keiji reaches back and grips his hair tight, and Koutarou moans into him.

“If you’re going for it, fucking go for it,” Keiji grits out.

Well, if he says so, Koutarou supposes. Three fingers seek out Keiji’s prostate, and when he finds it, Keiji pitches forward, catching himself on Koutarou’s thighs. Keiji sinks his teeth into the muscle, sucking a bruise that Koutarou knows he’ll be wont to cover at his next practice. 

Koutarou doesn’t spare him anymore, letting himself prod at that sweet spot again and again. His tongue slips in and out of Keiji’s ass easily, and he sometimes pulls back just to lick around his rim. Keiji moans and tries to cover it in hickies littered across Koutarou’s thighs. Koutarou’s beginning to wonder if Keiji’s going to let Koutarou get him off like this when he lifts his head.

“Alright, alright, enough, fuck,” Keiji pants, rolling off Koutarou. Koutarou hauls him upright and into a kiss as quickly as he can, and Keiji lets it happen, kisses back just as fiercely. Emotions threaten to overwhelm Koutarou, who’s prone to loving too hard, letting it get in the way of their more base needs. In this moment, though, Keiji fists his hand in Koutarou’s jersey and gives him exactly what he needs. Koutarou wraps his arms around Keiji’s waist, pulling him close, holding him too tightly. It has to be uncomfortable, but Keiji doesn’t fight him at all. When his hips shift, their cocks line up and slide against each other, and they part with a gasp.

“Fuck, Kou, I need—”

“Yeah, yeah, hop on.”

Keiji snorts and pushes Koutarou back against the bed. His eyes darken again; he’s back in control now, and Koutarou is thankful both for the slight reprieve and the shift in tone to let him know to get back into his role. He pushes Koutarou’s hips flat and lines himself up.

“Don’t move,” he warns. “I’ll go however quickly or slowly I please.”

Koutarou nods; Keiji had learned early he’d need that reminder, always a little too eager to fill him up. 

Today he goes slowly, centimeter by centimeter. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, and Koutarou knows he’s savoring the stretch, the pain before the pleasure. It’s a game for both of them; for Koutarou to test his obedience, and for Keiji to test his restraint. 

He bottoms out, finally, fully seated on Koutarou’s dick. A smile spreads over his face. 

“You feel amazing,” he murmurs, reaching down and pressing his palm against the number on Koutarou’s jersey. He leans over and presses his lips to Koutarou’s jawline. “So perfect for me, aren’t you? My star, my ace.”

Koutarou whines, the praise sitting hot in his groin and making him yearn to move again. But Keiji keeps one hand on Koutarou’s chest and runs the other through his hair as he leaves a trail of kisses from his cheek down to his neck. He nips and sucks at the sensitive spot by Koutarou’s ear before he finally sits back up.

Keiji’s first movement is exaggerated. He lifts himself almost all the way off Koutarou nearly as slowly as he first took him in. Koutarou moans, desperation clawing at his insides. He wants so badly to take over, to have his way, to fill Keiji over and over until they’re both screaming out. At his sides, his hands gather the quilt into clenched fists. 

And then Keiji slams back downward in one fluid movement. He lets out a broken cry of Koutarou’s name as he begins to fuck himself on his cock. Koutarou rests his hands on Keiji’s thighs, squeezing the muscle beneath. 

Koutarou gets the feeling that, given all the buildup, neither of them are going to last long at this point, and he’s just fine with that. He’s happy, so, so happy, to finally be touching Keiji, and somewhere in the back of his mind he resolves to never let them go this long without seeing each other again. Maybe he should ask Keiji to move to Osaka, or he should request a transfer to a team based in Tokyo, or they could move in together somewhere in the middle—

“Stop thinking,” Keiji commands, grabbing Koutarou’s face just roughly enough to pull him out of his head. “Focus, sweetheart, I want you to feel this.”

Koutarou nods eagerly. Keiji clenches around him, his walls tightening, and Koutarou whimpers. 

“Fuck,” Keiji breathes, shaking his head. He releases his grasp on Koutarou’s face and places both hands on his chest, fingers curling just a bit to dig his nails into Koutarou’s skin. “Koutarou…”

There’s no finishing his sentence, just a renewed effort to fuck himself. Koutarou lifts his hips, beginning to meet him thrust for thrust. They are hurtling toward the finish line now, too caught up in each other to do anything but try to find completion. Koutarou is shouting, moaning, crying out Keiji’s name like it’s a prayer for salvation, and maybe it is. Maybe they’re made for each other, or maybe fate had to fuck off with whatever other plans it may have had the moment they first saw each other. 

Heat and tension begin to pool in his groin, and he has just enough forethought to claw gracelessly at Keiji’s thigh and moan, “M’close—”

“Come for me, Kou,” Keiji says, and it’s probably not quite a command but Koutarou does anyway, spilling deep inside Keiji with a long moan. Keiji pauses only long enough to cup Koutarou’s cheek, his fingernails digging a little too hard into Koutarou’s face before he’s moving again, milking the rest of Koutarou’s release from him. 

Koutarou pushes quickly into oversensitivity, but he knows Keiji likes him that way, gasping for more even though he can’t really take it. Keiji looks wild and beautiful like this, haloed by the hotel lamp and seeking his own pleasure. If Koutarou were another man, he’d dedicate poems to the line of Keiji’s throat, the perfect muscle of his thighs, the freedom of being bound to him in all but name. As it is, he brings a hand to Keiji’s groin, fingers threading through the thick base of hair above his cock.

“Please, can I touch you, Keiji?” Koutarou begs. 

“Yes,” Keiji moans, and Koutarou’s hand is around him almost immediately. He smears the pre-come beaded on the tip down onto the shaft, and Keiji bucks his hips up into the feeling. “So—ah!—so good, fuck…”

There’s no point pacing himself now. He strokes Keiji in long, swift movements with as steady a hand as he can manage. Keiji shouts as he fucks himself, too far gone now to keep his voice down. Pleasure is pain is pleasure as Koutarou begins to feel his arousal burgeoning again, even still stuffed inside Keiji. 

Keiji lifts the hand that was on Koutarou’s face to his own nipple, pinching it between his fingers. Koutarou helps him out with the other, rubbing at it until it hardens beneath his touch. His face twists, and then he shudders and stalls with Koutarou’s cock fully inside him, his thighs quivering.

“Lift—lift your shirt up, Kou,” Keiji says, trying to push the fabric out of the way himself. “Let me make you a mess, baby.”

Koutarou moans, gathering his shirt up with his free hand and holding it between his teeth. One, two, three more strokes, and Keiji is coming, arching his back and spilling his release onto the canvas of Koutarou’s abs. Koutarou thinks he couldn’t possibly look more perfect than he does at this moment, seated on Koutarou’s cock like it’s a throne, covered in sweat, his hair a mess, his jaw dropped and his chest heaving. 

“Gorgeous,” Koutarou murmurs, mostly to himself. 

Keiji rides through the shocks of pleasure with his thighs clamped hard on either side of Koutarou’s hips. When he finally releases the tension in his legs, his whole body sinks downward, and he lays his head against Koutarou’s chest.

“You’re still a flatterer,” Keiji breathes.

Koutarou brushes Keiji’s bangs from his face. “I can’t tell you anything but the truth, Keiji,” he replies. “And now you’re just as much a mess as I am.”

Keiji grunts. “So we shower. S’fine.”

“Together?” Koutarou asks hopefully.

Keiji lifts his head long enough to fix Koutarou with an exhausted grimace. “I know that was only one round, but I have to go back in the morning and you played four sets today.”

“I am capable of showering platonically,” Koutarou says. 

“Not too platonically, I hope,” Keiji mumbles as he lays back down. Koutarou giggles.

It’s a long time before they bother unsticking themselves. Keiji’s unsteady on his feet, so Koutarou happily carries him to the bathroom. Keiji rolls his eyes but holds Koutarou close, and they wash each other off. Koutarou even manages to get back out with only the slightest of boners. 

Koutarou has a complicated skin routine and by nature takes a lot longer in the bathroom. When he comes back out, toothbrush still shoved into the recesses of his mouth, Keiji is dozing on the sheets. He’s stolen Koutarou’s jersey and has his nose buried in it. His phone is still in his hand and his glasses are still on his face.

Koutarou’s heart swells. He never thinks he can fall more in love with this man, and yet he continues to be proven wrong.

When he’s done rinsing out his mouth, he goes back out to the bed and lifts Keiji carefully, working to pull back the quilt so he can settle his partner beneath it. Keiji stirs just long enough to wrap his arms around Koutarou’s neck.

“Just settin’ ya down, sweetheart,” he whispers, and Keiji mumbles something disagreeable in response.

Koutarou grabs the pillows and fluffs them back up after he goes around to the other side. Then he tucks himself in behind Keiji, wrapping his arms around his waist. Keiji rolls over and curls into his side.

“Love you so much,” Keiji sighs.

Koutarou presses a kiss to his forehead. “Love you, too, my world.”

**Author's Note:**

> [my socials can be found here!](https://joshllyman.carrd.co)


End file.
